


The Pack Survives

by BoPeepWithNoSheep



Series: The Forest for the Trees [3]
Category: Dreaming of Sunshine - Silver Queen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gardens, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hokage Shimura Danzo, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Shimura Danzo as an actual bastard, lone wolf verse, more tags to be added as needed, sorry no human danzo this time it's the worst timeline folks, which as a concept belongs to wafflelate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoPeepWithNoSheep/pseuds/BoPeepWithNoSheep
Summary: It's very difficult to live in the worst timeline.





	1. Moriko 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the dark fire will not avail you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871546) by [wafflelate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflelate/pseuds/wafflelate). 
  * Inspired by [Dreaming of Sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/425846) by SilverQueen. 



> What's up everyone, this is a fic that takes place in wafflelate's lone wolf universe which is basically an au of Silver Queen's Dreaming of Sunshine! Basically I got super caught up in it ages ago, all of this stuff was previously posted on google docs shared with the DoS discord and then shared on my tumblr and I'm FINALLY moving it over here.

There was something intrinsically terrifying in realizing just where one had been reborn into the world. Shimura Moriko struggled enough with the Shimura bit of her last name, and the Grandfather she never asked for. Slowly realizing she hadn’t even been born into canon Naruto was…disheartening.

Things had been stressful.

Nothing odd at first, besides the fact that Grandfather was her grandfather. Babies were expected to cry, were supposed to cry and if Moriko cried more often than a normal infant it was blamed on the fact that her mother had passed. That somehow even as an infant Moriko could sense the overall gloom that permeated through the Shimura clan at the loss of its prodigal daughter. It wasn’t an incorrect guess, objectively speaking.

When she met Konohamaru she latched onto the boy, something familiar and someone who didn’t make her mind scream _‘DANGER!’_ Her unusual responsiveness had more playdates arranged; he was her outlet to the outside world. The rest of the Sarutobi clan were a blur of adults with not enough time to spare on orphaned youngsters.

Hiruzen was kind but busy; Moriko rarely saw more than a passing glimpse of him while visiting his own home but he still left expensive toys for her in Konohamaru’s little playroom. Little dolls Konohamaru seemed disinclined to touch when he could mouth at a rubber kunai. Moriko herself did not lack for toys, exactly, but pretty porcelain dolls were not something she had ever been gifted. Temari balls and kendama to help improve her dexterity and reflexes, children’s guides to katas with colorful illustrations of every step, and daruma otoshi to help instill a sense of control in her movements. All practical toys, things with definitive uses and benefits towards her future, not useless like beautifully painted and terribly  _fragile_  dolls.

Every time she went home Moriko clutched them tightly to her chest even as Danzo delicately pried them from her hands. She never knew where he took them if he kept them hidden away in a sealed scroll or simply burned them away with a jutsu. She quickly learned not to cry when he took them.

It was much the same with gifts from her rare visits from her father, a sad man with scared eyes who constantly ran spindly, thinning fingers through her hair and watched with an expression like he was going to war every time he stepped into the Shimura main house to see her. Danzo always looked at him with disdainful glares that made her father’s hands tremble–Killing intent, finely focused the moment he arrived that only lessened when Moriko was in their shared presence. All of their visits were supervised. Honda Yasu had not been allowed the  _privilege_  of joining the Shimura clan, his marriage to the late Shimura Takeko only acknowledged in order to spare the Shimura heir the burden of bastardy.

It was a nerve-wracking life, Danzo’s constant overbearing presence never quite made better by gentle words and gentle hands. His attentions were near constant, her only reprieve her playdates with Konohamaru or the occasional moments when she was handed off to her older cousin Chiyome when Danzo had meetings he could not drag his little granddaughter into. By age two Moriko knew more about the inner workings of Konoha’s unseemly underbelly than most ANBU all from her careful perch within the sling across his chest. At age three it was where she learned of the plan for Hiruzen’s assassination when it was in its very final steps. She struggled her feeble little arms with a mournful wail as Grandfather–Danzo– _Murderer_  tutted at her tears and rocked her till exhaustion overtook her young body.

When she next awoke, she sat securely in Grandfather’s lap, could hear the man’s soft wheezing mutterings as one hand carded through her hair, the other held a pen that scratched across a scroll with his usual fervor. For a moment, she almost believed Grandfather’s words to be a dream–a nightmare brought on by stress and anxiety. She was prone to them, the medics called them night terrors and said they would pass as she grew older. Moriko hoped as much, her waking world was frightening enough without her own mind tormenting her.

She was only roused from her sleepy haze when a sudden swirl of leaves heralded a tall ANBU operative. Normally such an event wouldn’t arouse a terrible amount of suspicion from the girl but the stiff posture she recognized as a telltale sign of ROOT had dread forming like a lead weight in her stomach.

“The Sandaime is dead. The council meets to choose its new Hokage.”

The sentence ricocheted in her brain because it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real, her  _life_  was the nightmare. _‘I must be in the worst timeline,’_ She thought rather dazedly as she was lifted up, tucked carefully into her sling. Where before she had cried at the thought of kindly, doll giving old Hiruzen dying now she just felt numb.

Toddlers were expected to cry, were supposed to cry but Moriko went silent after that. Moriko was too terrified.


	2. Yasu 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasu has a bad time.

There was sheer terror coursing through his veins as he accepted his mission. He’d somehow known from the very first time he’d met Shimura Takeko that the woman would be the death of him. When they had been young and happy it had been an exasperated feeling, a statement made when hope still shined in his eyes and he felt utter glee every time he glanced at his wife’s rounding stomach.

He’d never intended the thought to be literal.

He’d lost a lot of blood, but it was fine. It wouldn’t be convincing if he hadn’t, it was a damn lucky fact that he was a medic nin because those skills were the only thing keeping his one remaining kidney working double time to vent poison from his system. A mission in Grass this time of year, when bandits and missing-nin alike were out in droves to steal from merchants making their way through disputed lands, it was pure suicide. Or rather, as a directive handed down directly from the honorable Godaime it was an act of petty vengeance. Yasu could only be grateful that Danzo directed all of his spite at him, that his father-in-law ignored Yasu’s blood that flowed through his beloved little girl in favor of the Shimura blood in Moriko. He hated the name Danzo had chosen, Takeko wanted to name her Asuka or Yua so that she could  _escape_  the bindings of the Shimura clan — but Moriko was still Yasu’s, still Takeko’s daughter the spitting image of her mother but for the shadow of Yasu’s own face in the slant of her nose.

And Danzo had stolen her, hidden her away so she couldn’t run like Takeko had.

At some point in his dazed stupor after the attack Yasu dropped his Konoha headband, bloodied and cracked from where he had used it to deflect a kunai meant for his  _eye socket_. He was lucky, clanless and plain as he was, once he shed his flak jacket and wriggled it onto one of the headless corpses of his client he looked like any other unfortunate merchant but for the dull glow of the hand he held against his bleeding gut. Away, he had to get away before Danzo’s dogs came to check on him, to confirm he’d met his demise. He’d stumbled his way through a river, almost drowning when one leg had given out but he cycled enough chakra through it to dull the pain of his ripped tendon and  _keep moving_.

Moving away from Konoha, deeper into Iwa, towards the civilian village he knew lay somewhere within four day’s walk. It hadn’t been on the map he’d been supplied within his mission scroll, no, it had been carefully folded into his hand on a scrap piece of paper by Shimura Chiyome. She’d been giving him an  _option_. It wasn’t that he had nothing left in Konoha to return to–His heart, his soul, his _little girl_ was there but his cousin-in-law had given him a choice, likely endangered herself if Danzo ever found out, but she’d done it anyway.

Live a traitor or die a Konoha nin — once upon a time, when the word Hokage had  _meant_  something Honda Yasu would have spat in the face of anyone who claimed he’d ever turn on the village that had given him his life, wife, and a daughter.

When Moriko was three and a half years old orders for her father to be executed were given, it was not an  _official_  execution. No, instead Yasu was sent on a suicide mission that went so sideways the only thing returned was a shattered forehead protector — the consequences of killing the Hokage’s daughter. Matsumoto Yasu, a doctor from Tanzaku-Gai, stumbled into a small neutral Iwa village and prayed that one day his daughter might escape. That she might forgive him.


	3. Moriko 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriko cherishes little things.

Moriko had small blessings in her life and she counted them constantly. Konohamaru was the biggest, the bright star in her life with which she orbited with some feeble hope she could absorb some of his light. Konohamaru could still smile, could still chatter aimlessly in half child speak in a way she couldn’t force anymore. It was interspersed with tears, with screeching fits for his grandfather but they would pass. She prayed they would pass, Danzo would only tolerate them for so long.

They were still young, even if Moriko’s own understanding of death was warped by her unique circumstances, Konohamaru was just coming to the age of being able to grapple with the existence of the specter. He understood that everyone was telling him his grandfather had gone away but he still struggled with why? Moriko  _knew_  why it burned deep in her gut and churned her stomach so much that on some nights she’d empty their contents and it would mean another day with Grandfather’s medics poking and prodding and squirming under the Godaime’s harsh gaze because no one could find out what was wrong. No one could  _fix_  her.

 _‘Poison?’_ Whispered some of the braver, stupider, ones who wished to curry favor with the paranoid Hokage but Moriko knew the only thing poisoning her was Danzo’s blood that coursed through her veins.

That brought her second blessing, albeit from an incredibly unexpected place. He was just supposed to be a guard, someone to watch her when Danzo couldn’t. Someone with a vested interest in their own self-preservation that  _nothing_  happened to the Hokage’s Honorable Granddaughter on their watch or else there would be  _consequences_.

Moriko never expected Uchiha Itachi to be a lifeline she clung to so desperately.

This world was already so different than the one she remembered it wasn’t exactly a shock when she and Konohamaru were left with a small teen,  _barely_  a teen Moriko thought in spite of the deep bags under his eyes and the stress lines on his face. She didn’t judge him for them, anyone who dealt so closely with Danzo was allowed their anxiety.

Moriko wouldn’t have thought badly of him if he’d simply kept a silent vigil, this was a glorified D-rank mission with A-rank consequences for failure slapped onto it due to Grandfather’s paranoia. Watching the grandchildren of current and former Hokage was a task as dangerous as it was simple. If anything happened to them ire would crash against the boy, against anyone close to him that could be implicated. The boy could have kept his distance, watched and cared for them to the bare minimal degree but he didn’t–He was so  _kind_  and Moriko latched on like a drowning sailor.

“My name is Itachi, it’s very nice to meet you.” He told them in a whisper-soft voice, too delicate and kind and it made Moriko’s eyes well up with tears before she could stop them. Itachi held her hand and gently patted her back as she cried but it only made her feel  _worse_. This was a boy who her grandfather would  _break_ , would tear out pieces of his compassionate heart until only a hollow shell with a crying monster in its chest was left.

Itachi, as it turned out, was  _good_  with children–Something that shouldn’t have been surprising considering the love for his brother that Grandfather would twist and mold into something devoted and vicious some day. He read to them, gathering both children on either side of him as he told stories of Hashirama and Madara and the founding of Konoha. He played with them, helped solve puzzle games and eventually began to teach Moriko shoji as if it were a completely normal game for an almost four-year-old to learn with any degree of understanding.

Moriko  _loved_  Itachi, like she loved Konohamaru, with that deep-seated protective feeling that perhaps  _this_  she could keep safe from Grandfather. She had  _so little_  control in her life, but small things, little things like telling Grandfather how much ‘Ita’ made her feel safe so that he would stop rotating their guard or distracting Konohamaru with sweets and toys whenever the boy asked questions about his own grandfather when Danzo was too close.

She couldn’t keep them whole, she wasn’t strong or smart enough to thwart Danzo’s plans but she could pick up the little pieces that had fallen and do her best to paste them back together like a child’s collage. Every smile she dragged from Itachi was a breath of fresh air, every giggle from Konohamaru a drop of water in the desert.

 _Little things_ , Moriko learned to cherish little things, to do little tasks for those she cherished because in this life it was all she could do.


	4. Yasu 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasu makes a friend.

An odd combination of fear and dull resignation roiled in Yasu’s gut as he recognized Hatake Kakashi’s muffled chakra signal. It was mostly suppressed but Yasu never quite forgot the chakra signals of the ANBU agents he’d healed. It was difficult to forget scrubbing the feeling of leaking blood and chakra off one’s skin after having knit a man’s organs back into his stomach.

Hatake was a hunter-nin from what Yasu understood, though he seemed too high ranking to be sent after someone like him–But maybe it was just Danzo ensuring someone actually got the job done. At least ANBU weren’t prone to overdrawn deaths the way missing-nin or bandits were. It would be a faster death than the last he’d been sentenced to.

There was no real point in running, he was a field medic but he’d never been a true combat medic. That particular brand of medic had mostly died off when Tsunade left the village. As the strangely unsteady chakra signal warbled towards his small house, he mentally apologized to both Takeko and Moriko, that he would be seeing the former sooner than the latter.

To say he was surprised by the knock at his door was a rather large understatement. He staggered towards the door, dread blooming in his chest. However, his brows furrowed in confusion at the man in his doorway as he opened it with only a deep breath to muster his courage.

“You’re the village doctor?”

The chakra buzzing erratically told the medic that this was indeed Kakashi Hatake but the henge he wore was flawless. A man with a plain and boring face, one that could be native to any region–not too far off Yasu’s own in fact–swathed in a worn traveling cloak.

“I–Yes, I’m Yasutora. Can I–How may I help you, sir?”

There was no immediate reply but a quick jerk of Hatake’s arm had Yasu flinching back. However, no kunai came at him, instead, the man had pulled back the cloak to reveal two wounds, a large bloody gouge just below his right hip, the kunai that presumably made it still jutting out, and a slightly less bloody patch bleeding through his shirt. Yasu swore, medic’s instincts propelling him to the man’s side–Enemy or not, this certainly explained the fluctuation of the younger man’s chakra.

It was, quite frankly, amazing that Hatake could keep up a henge in this state, it was certainly beyond Yasu’s own capabilities. His primary method of disguise as of late was the slow-growing peach fuzz he’d stopped tending to on his face. With muscles not quite out of shape yet, Yasu hauled most of Hatake’s weight onto his side as he slipped an arm around the younger man’s waist and hurried the not quite stranger into his home. Yasu had taken an oath once, to protect and heal all Konoha Nin who came across his path, though he certainly hadn’t expected that oath to follow him into his exile.

He was neat and meticulous as he got to work, though he mumbled under his breath as he did so, an old nervous habit that had never quite left him. Occasionally he would ask Hatake innocuous questions, the date, year, or how many wooden slats the injured man could count on Yasu’s ceiling(rather impressively it was all twenty-seven) just to make sure the man was still alive under his hands. He refrained from using chakra any more than he absolutely had to, he was a competent enough trauma medic to get away without the use of it and therefore pass for a civilian doctor. Of course, the most trauma work he did in the village were all childbirths and the occasional cart accident.

He almost felt out of his depth as he finished with the leg wound and carefully stripped away the fabric on Hatake’s chest. The young man released an irritated huff more akin to what one would give in response to a cold stethoscope and not having fabric gently pulled off clotted blood. The wound itself had Yasu swearing again, “What kind of  _mediocre_  sutures–this is  _terrible_. My dau–A  _toddler_ could make neater stitches than this.” He hadn’t really meant for the words to tumble out of his mouth, but they pulled a rasping snort from Hatake.

“Mah, sorry about that, had to use my left hand.”

It was more words than Yasu had heard from Hatake since he’d arrived and it was Yasu’s turn to release and irritated huff of his own because this would be painful and there was only one way he could help. “I’m going to have to rip these sutures out, but I need your permission to do something.” Hatake shifted uneasily and Yasu wished at once he could send a wave of relaxing chakra through the man–but it would disrupt the henge and probably get him killed if he didn’t ask first.

“You didn’t ask my permission to do anything with my leg.” Which was true, but Yasu had treated Hatake’s leg the civilian way. If he did the same with this wound then there could be complications, “I  _swear_  that I won’t hurt you–I swear on the will of fire–but I’m going to have to use chakra to heal the edges of that wound so I can sew it back neatly otherwise you’re going to end up with so much scar tissue your mobility on that side will be completely shot.”

At the mention of chakra Yasu felt Hatake stiffen beneath his hands and without even seeing the other man move he felt the cold sting of metal against his throat. Yasu knew he should have moved the kunai removed from Hatake’s leg out of reach, a sloppy mistake made in medical haste.

“Who are you?”

The words came out cold as the steel against his throat and Yasu sighed, ANBU were so twitchy. “I’m just a dead man from Konoha but I’d like to help you.” Slowly, ever so slowly, the pressure on his neck receded and Hatake slowly laid back down on the bloodied pallet. Yasu took the action as assent and took up his scalpel to carefully cut away the sloppy sutures. His right hand gently followed after his scalpel wielding left, sending gentle waves of healing chakra in the flesh and soothing too warm, red-tinted skin and numbing it for the new sutures he would soon place there.

For a fleeting moment, Yasu glanced up from the wound, to gauge Kakashi’s pain level only to be startled by the red sharingan swirling at him. Again, Yasu swore and it was only long years of medical discipline that kept his hands steady in spite of his rising panic. It would be unfortunate to go to all this trouble of healing Hatake only to kill him by stabbing him in the kidney by accident.

“Did Danzo set this up?” The young shinobi’s voice was ice and Yasu practically felt the room’s temperature lower. It was difficult, almost impossible to break eye contact but biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed brought sense flooding back into his brain and his eyes trailing back down where they belonged–Taking care of Hatake’s wounds before he bled out.

A nervous laugh bubbled out of his throat because the world was more surreal than he’d thought. It wasn’t just disposable medics Danzo was purging from his  _illustrious_  regime, he had somehow run off  _Sharingan Kakashi_. It was both gratifying and worrying if Danzo was willing to throw away such a powerful tool what did that mean for little ones like Moriko.

“No, if Danzo knew where I was I would be very dead. Technically, I must be dead, since no one’s come after me yet.” Nearly a year now, it  _would_  be a year soon but it had been three hundred and seventy-two days since he’d last seen Moriko, which was the more important number.

Hatake shifted again, and Yasu really wished he wouldn’t fidget, even with healing chakra blocking any further blood from escaping the wound he could still exacerbate the damage. The masked man seemed to grimace if the slant of his single visible eyebrow was any indication and Yasu just barely refrained from tutting when the younger shinobi spoke again, “Is that why you’re helping me?”

Carefully, Yasu sterilized his needle with a small katon before threading it, “Hmm, does Danzo hate you?”

The question stopped Hatake short, his solitary eye blinking in confusion, he looked very young when he did that, Yasu noted.

“I–yes…That’s a good thing?”

Ignoring the small hitch in Kakashi’s breathing as Yasu began stitching he tried his best to smile comfortingly but it felt completely fake on his face. It was better to smile, because if he didn’t at least try then he’d likely be crying, “Danzo killed my wife and kidnapped my daughter, anyone who pisses him off enough to be run out of the village is alright in my book. Now, could you please stop using that sharingan? It disrupts the chakra flow to the rest of your body and makes healing harder.”

Hatake stayed at his house for exactly two days before he escaped while Yasu went out to the market to buy fresh linen for bandages. He left a small thank you note on Yasu’s kitchen table with an odd little henohenomoheji instead of a signature. Yasu wasn’t terribly surprised a few weeks later when he arrived home after helping out with the rough childbirth of a farmer’s wife one village over only to find Kakashi collapsed on his bed and bleeding into his clean sheets.

It was the beginning of an odd sort of companionship.


	5. Itachi 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi makes a friend.

Itachi had never had a little sister, only his brother. The only women he interacted with on a regular basis outside of professional settings were his mother and Izumi. Granted that while the two of them were incredibly different than an almost-four-year-old, he’d thought between perhaps Sasuke and Izumi that he could get a handle of exactly how best to interact with the honorable granddaughter, S. His secondary charge, Sarutobi Konohamaru was comparatively easy, not terribly different from Sasuke in temperament all things considered.

Shimura Moriko was…different.

She was intelligent, almost  _frighteningly_  so at her age and he knew as much from personal experience. Her stuttering and lisping speech made it less obvious, such impediments were often taken as an indication of a similarly impaired mind but Itachi had watched the little girl solve puzzles in fifteen minutes that would have taken his brother at least an  _hour_  to decipher.

It was like looking in a mirror at times.

“That’s very good, Moriko-chan. Is Konohamaru-kun helping you?” The way her eyes lit up when he spoke her name was…mildly distressing. He knew she rarely heard it from anyone outside of this room, as most feared the consequences of being found disrespectful by the godaime.

“Yes, he’s helping!” She enthused quietly as she gestured to Konohamaru who was attempting to sort the puzzle pieces by color but seemed utterly confused on which pile to relegate a piece with two colors on it. With her attention now drawn to Konohamaru instead of said puzzle, Itachi watched with interest as she frowned at the boy’s plight before swooping in to rescue him.

“Kono, red pile, please.”

That was another thing he’d noticed, her grammar was impeccable in spite of the childish pronunciation. Her stammer came and went worse some days and nearly gone on good days such as this one, but he suspected the lisp was a more permanent developmental matter. That worried him, he didn’t know much about speech therapy but he’d gotten Shisui to check out a book on it from Konoha’s library. There were other books he’d requested, pediatric first aid, basic child psychology, and early childhood development.

The latter had indeed been helpful for Konohamaru, it had been years since Sasuke had been that age so he was rusty but if anything reading it made Moriko stand out even  _further._  How had no one else noticed? There were certain things she was on target for her age, her motor skills were not nearly so prodigious and if anything they were perhaps _average_  considering her clan training. However, that frightening intellect that gleamed in her eyes or the startling sadness and understanding plagued his mind at times.

Had  _he_  looked like that at her age?

Casting out his chakra sense to ensure he’d have ample warning time in case someone walked in, Itachi sat across from the two children. Konohamaru had finished his red pile and moved on to dividing blue and yellow while Moriko’s eyes roved over the red pile for a few moments before making quick work of the section. Once finished she sat patiently, much more patiently than he could recall Sasuke ever being over games. It reminded him of his brief early days in the academy when he would finish tests in minutes but still wait until he saw another student finish before he turned it in, so fewer people stared at him.

Now she moved to focus on him, with a small smile he extended his hand and Moriko quickly grasped it with her own much smaller ones. He allowed himself to be tugged closer and moved his palm as the little girl tilted his hand this way and that. It was a thorough examination, and something she did every time she spent a few days away from him with the Hokage or being watched by another Shimura.

“Ita, what’s this.” There was clear disapproval in her voice as she pushed his own hand towards his face. Ah, he’d forgotten about that bandage, a minor training accident but the toddler before him stared at the mark as if he’d lost a finger and somehow it was _her_  fault. There was a familiar skitter to her breath that he knew he needed to nip in the bud before it could develop into full-blown panic.

“It’s nothing, just a scrape from sparring with Shisui,” which he only belatedly realized was not the proper thing to say as Moriko’s scowl only increased at the mention of his cousin and confidant. She had a funny jealous streak about her whenever Itachi mentioned Shisui, it reminded him of Sasuke but it was odd that the same envy never popped up with he mentioned hia=s little brother.

Perhaps it was due to having no proper introduction to Sasuke, his little brother was more of a hypothetical playmate while Shisui was the one who once made Konohamaru cry by accidentally startling him with a body flicker. An offense no level of sweet talking or sweet bribes could erase, though not for lack of trying on Shisui’s part.

“Ita’s got to stay  _safe_.”

Itachi blinked at the fierceness in her tone but merely nodded and gently extricated his hand from hers. His voice took on a teasing edge as one finger delicately prodded her little forehead, “I’m here to keep  _you_  safe, don’t worry about me so much, Moriko-chan.” 


	6. Shisui 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shisui spars and comes to some conclusions.

Shisui knew his family’s reputation just as surely as he knew he broke the conventional mold of what an Uchiha acted like. Whether that was a good or bad thing and whether it was a trait he’d outgrow fluctuated wildly depending on who a person asked. Still, overall he was viewed pretty positively around the village, loyal young shinobi with a bright future and what-not.

To think he’d finally met his match in a  _toddler_  was absolutely unacceptable.

“She’s like a miniature  _godaime_ , they’ve got the same glare.” He made the comparison once and only once, in the middle of their spar and regretted it immediately as an offended downturn of Itachi’s lips was the only herald of a severe katon sent his way. Shisui dodged with a huff and a shunshin, only to find Itachi had faked him out and kunai met kunai.

“Don’t say that around her, she’s… _sensitive_.”

Sensitive was certainly a word for the frail little granddaughter of the hokage who rarely ever saw the light of day from anything but a window. It was a little sad, in a sort of fairytale way, like a princess trapped in a tower. Though by  _that_  logic it made Itachi the dragon protecting her and that was–well, not  _wrong_  and funny enough of a mental image to make him snort despite his current situation.

“Hey, why can’t  _I_ be sensitive, she hurts my feelings, you know.”

That girl had Itachi wrapped around her finger, nearly as bad as  _Sasuke_  did but with a whole different variety of emotional baggage. Still, it wasn’t an awful position to be in strategically, Shisui knew there were talks of hostaging the girl if the need arose. There were also other talks that Itachi was  _not_ privy to of worst-case scenarios and acceptable losses, she was a powerful bargaining tool but at the end of the day, she was still a Shimura. It was distasteful but all war was and sometimes Itachi was just a  _little_  too much of a wide-eyed idealist to remember that–or rather his younger friend still hoped that maybe for once he could have a less bloody option.

Of course, Itachi wasn’t blind to anything now, much to Shisui’s mild irritation as he spun a kunai to grip in his free hand. He stabbed out and managed a glancing blow against Itachi’s hand, enough to cause a temporary retreat. Shisui took advantage of his reprieve to shunshin back towards the treeline.

“Shisui, she’s a three-year-old.” He lectured mildly and Shisui was reminded of how Itachi really missed his calling as an academy or genin teacher. Another opportunity that was stolen from many members of the clan because who wanted an  _Uchiha_  teaching their children. Still, Shisui laughed, forcing away the darker thoughts and let a playful petulance color his voice.

“An  _aggressive_ three-year-old, Itachi.” The pout remained on his features as they clashed again, Shisui moved before Itachi, he’d always been the less patient one. Sometimes it worked out for him, Itachi’s caution causing a blink-or-you’ll-miss-it opening that only a sharingan user could see. Other times it had him landing flat on his ass because Itachi  _also_  had that ever-spinning eye.

Kunai met kunai again and legs flared, if this turned into a grappling match then Shisui would have the advantage going purely on weight and size which was why he’d brought the fight back to close combat on his own terms. Itachi released a small involuntary wheeze as Shisui’s foot glanced off the side of his ribs but otherwise gave no indication he’d been hit. His voice was still even and lecturing and Shisui knew he’d be hearing about this for  _days_.

“She’ll grow out of it. She’s not like him,  _I_ know both of them.”

And  _that_  was the comment that finally made Shisui pause, that brought guilt bubbling uneasily in his stomach like squirming insects. Because it was right, none of the Uchiha knew Danzo like Itachi did, because his cousin was the one who’d been snatched up a hostage and a soldier all in one. When he wasn’t playing babysitter he was doing Danzo’s dirty work to protect his family. He spent almost every hour of his life at the whims of one Shimura or another–was it any wonder he preferred the harmless toddler?

The moment of hesitation was all Itachi needed, red eyes narrowing as his little wrist shot forward, grabbing Shisui’s right arm. Immediately, Shisui groaned before he even hit the ground because he knew what was happening and trying to stop it would risk a broken neck. One moment of inattention was all Itachi needed to use that weight advantage of Shisui’s against him as he leaned in and hauled the larger boy over his shoulder.

Shisui hit the ground with a harder thud than normal and decided a subject change would be needed before the next round or else he might actually end up with something broken by his little mother hen of a cousin.


	7. Chiyojo 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chiyojo would like to rage.

Chiyojo considered herself a patient woman. It was a necessary trait in a teacher, one she had nurtured within herself after she’d settled that her lifelong goal wasn’t ANBU like her mother and sister, research and development like her father, or politics like her uncle. It was  _teaching_  and teachers needed to be above and beyond  _patient_.

Chiyojo was patient, she had lots of evidence to prove it. The fact that she and Suzume had finally settled the would-they-or-won’t-they after years of dancing around each other was evidence enough. There were her _Problem Students_ , who she had practically an unending level of patience for, be it Lee and his disability or Tenten and her stubborn insistence against killing that Chiyojo quickly shushed before the wrong person  _heard_  her. Her sister counted, she supposed, given that Chiyome always took her sweet time between their brief reunions.

And then there was Danzo, Chiyojo was waiting  _very patiently_  for the old bastard’s karma to finally catch up with him.

She sat,  _patiently_ , in a nearly empty Akimichi teashop. Her hands skittered across the wood, scratching idly at chipping paint of the table’s privacy seal. It was fine, Chiyojo had activated a muffling jutsu the moment she’d sat down, the same one she used in her classroom to prevent cheating on tests. It was trustier than a ten-year-old paint strip, especially when it came to meetings like  _this_.

Her sister breezed in like a ghost, all mournful and silent like she was the clan exile, stripped of her name and legal rights. For a moment, Chiyojo saw red before she breathed in deeply, clearing her thoughts and calming her nerves. This meeting wasn’t about Chiyome.

“Moriko is doing well.” Soft voice, soft eyes that wouldn’t look into Chiyojo’s anymore, that hadn’t looked at them in  _years_  at this point. How could Danzo have ever thought  _she_  was the weak one when  _her sister_  was the one who’d crumpled into this broken mess of a woman? Just proved what an absolute idiot he was.

Chiyojo said nothing, just raised an eyebrow for her sister to keep going, they both knew why they were here. Chiyome’s guilt was drowning her, almost as surely as Chiyojo’s anger kept her afloat. These stolen moments every few months were the elder’s atonement for backing the wrong team, for staying loyal even in the face of all of Danzo’s crimes. These little trickles of information, of Moriko’s life, that Chiyojo was so thoroughly barred from.

“I–I know that you were hoping that she would start the academy early this year but…The Godaime is currently considering private tutors for her, his enemies have been more active as of late. It’s too dangerous for the public to see her.”

Perhaps it was the plaintive tone, practically  _begging_  for forgiveness that Chiyojo was not capable of offering that set her off–but Chiyojo knew it wasn’t, deep down she knew she’d just been waiting patiently for a moment to strike, “I’m her  _Godmother_ , Chiyome! I deserve to see her! For the love of Hashirama, everyone else is  _dead_ , I deserve to RAISE her!”

Chiyome faltered, just like she always did but she never followed through. She always went crawling back to the clan like it even cared about her. She was nothing but another warm body for Danzo to hide behind, but Chiyome had a choice and she always made the wrong one, “I’m doing what I  _can_ , Chiyojo, please. I can’t protect  _both_  of you.”

The younger twin  _sneered_ , once they’d been mirror images of each other but now Chiyome was all broken glass but Chiyojo was  _molten_. Broken down and reforged sharp-edged and  _stronger_ , “Oh, I know it was so _inconvenient_  for you to slit my throat and achilles tendons to get into that Bastard’s good graces. I’m _so_  sorry for surviving your  _beloved_  uncle’s assassination attempt.”

Her voice was level despite the searing anger, it was harsh considering that Chiyome had purposefully botched the job so that Chiyojo would survive. Had left her bleeding out where Suzume would find her, had quietly suggested that she be disowned from the clan as an invalid, had secretly set up an anonymous account to pay for her physical therapy. The small voice in her head that sounded  _so much_  like Danzo screamed that she should be  _grateful_ –but the everpresent rasp in her voice and the constant pain in her ankles after a day of standing in her classroom crushed the feeling  _mercilessly_.

There were tears pricking at the corners of her sister’s eyes, but they both knew they’d never fall, the Shimura didn’t cry,

“Chiyojo– _Please_.”

God, wasn’t there  _anything_  Danzo touched that didn’t rot from the inside out? 


	8. Chiyome 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chiyome would like to cry.

Three times in her life, Chiyome had almost found the courage to hack her way out of Danzo’s clutches. The problem was that  _almost_  only ever counted in horseshoes and explosive tags.

When she had been young, before Takeko had died, Chiyome had almost resented her cousin. The moment the elder girl escaped Danzo’s grasp had been the exact moment the noose around Chiyome’s neck tightened into the leash it would remain for the rest of her life. Mother’s death may have started the tragic descent but Takeko’s fleeing had ensured that Chiyome’s spare status was much less metaphorical than before.

It hadn’t changed the fact that when at eight years old Chiyojo cried and begged Takeko  _‘Please bring me with you!’_  Chiyome had remained steadfast and silent just outside her cousin’s door. She wasn’t brave enough–If Takeko took Chiyojo, that would be fine. Uncle had never been interested in her sister in any ways that mattered, so she was  _safe_. Chiyome was too strong and too scared. If she left, if both his Heir and Spare abandoned him then what would happen to Chiyojo?

She was young and so scared and when Takeko left Uncle’s interest in Chiyome’s training had intensified in nearly equal measures to his disinterest in Chiyojo’s. It was better, that she hadn’t plied their elder cousin with tears–Chiyome knew it would have broken Takeko’s steadfast refusal but it would have put them all in danger.

It was for the best, she promised herself.

At fifteen, a respectable age, Chiyome made ANBU. It wasn’t that impressive, given that Chiyome had been trained in ROOT since the night Mother died in the third war, had left to fight and _left them to rot_. Which one didn’t truly matter in the long term, according to Danzo even at peace there was always a war. No first, second, or third it was  _The War_  and it raged no matter how many treaties were signed or promises made.

When she made ANBU, when she earned her bear mask there was a moment of relief–She could survive here, it would be difficult but in ANBU she followed the Hokage’s orders. She’d known Hiruzen since she was small, Danzo called the Hokage  _soft_  and _weak_ but if he was then so was Danzo–A preposterous thought of the man who’d viciously torn the childhood from her heart when her face was still round with baby fat. But the two men weren’t the opposites that Danzo insisted, they were two sides of the same coin. Hiruzen had a brutality that could match Danzo bite for bite, he just used it differently.

“Hokage-sama, it is an honor to serve you.” It wasn’t a lie, it was an honor and a privilege and a  _reprieve_. This wouldn’t be the life in the light her sister knew, but a life in shadows was so much better than struggling through the cloying pitch black abyss. It was more than she’d hoped for as far back as she could remember.

If there was any softness in Hiruzen it was his voice, Chiyome decided, “I am sure that you will make us all very proud Agent Bear,” The way he could put people at ease with only words–Danzo could perhaps do the same to someone who didn’t know better, but Hiruzen could do it to someone who  _did_. It was a much more impressive feat, though she would never admit it out loud, “I’m sure you’ll be pleased with your assignment, don’t let anyone shame you for perceived nepotism you’ve earned your position through skill and talent, not your blood. Your Uncle and I are very proud, Yome-chan.”

The mask prevented the Hokage from seeing the blood as it drained from her face. She could say something–She could tell him she’d prefer another assignment. For all his weaknesses Danzo railed against, that he was weak to those he held close was  _true_  and Chiyome was tangentially close enough. If she were careful she could just  _lever_  that connection–she was still Yome-chan to him, the little girl who chewed on her kimono sleeves and asked a million questions about jutsu. She could ask for an out of village position or a different unit or  _anything_.

But she just couldn’t, she was caught in a web of weaving roots pulling her down farther and farther until dirt clogged her mouth and threatened to drown her. Danzo would never let her go–what was the use in trying to escape if he would just trap her further?

“You’ll be a valuable asset to ROOT.”

If Danzo had his way of trapping her in his iron grasp then ROOT had a way of slithering into her chest and ingraining itself into her very being. Chiyome had never wanted children the way that Danzo and Chiyojo had–For all their differences and mutual hatred their desires to leave legacies behind were not so different. Chiyome was not so inclined, and yet it was she who ultimately ended up with so many children pressed into her brittle, shattered heart.

It was only natural that Danzo noticed her proficiency with children, Danzo had a talent for scoping every last of one of his assets abilities and wringing them until there was nothing left. At age sixteen she was made an informal instructor, by age seventeen she had replaced her Uncle as ROOT’s primary instructor of the two youngest age blocks. With the toddlers, she could almost delude herself into pretending she was something like an academy instructor, just like her sister. After her own ‘overdue graduation’ that left Chiyojo wheelchair-bound and mute for  _months_  that delusion was shattered like many other small comforts in her life.

The older children were harder, the older children were who changed her. When Danzo ascended to the Hokage’s seat his hold on ROOT tightened but his  _attention_  was split. Even he could not be everywhere at once, could not see the soft touches and kind words once reserved for the youngest children spread as Chiyome was given higher responsibilities. It was all within reason, she couldn’t  _protect_  them because no one could be protected from Danzo but she could lessen their pain.

She could make small promises, she could fetch kohl for sketchbooks, or a needle and thread for mending, a few honey-drops to reduce coughs, she could promise a dying boy a chance to save his brother.

“Bear-senpai,” One of her boys spoke softly, or rather they all spoke softly for fear of being overheard but this one spoke with a softness to  _her_ , “The medic will not return to Konoha.” Her relief was nearly overwhelming–He had understood her, it was always so dangerous to hope they would listen to her gentle nudges. She couldn’t undermine Danzo’s orders, it would lead to grief and death for all of them but she could  _twist_  orders. She could play the long game.

“Bear-senpai?”

His voice startled her from her thoughts, he had made his report but he still lingered, Chiyome nodded in assent, permission to speak freely. The asset, the boy looked nervous as if afraid his next words would be unwelcome. Beneath her mask, Chiyome’s eyes burned but her eyes remained tearless as ever. Again, she nodded to the boy this time resting a hand gently upon his shoulder.

Finally, he mustered his courage, “Will--Will we hide  _you_  one day?”

They  _could_ , these children who looked at her like the mothers they couldn’t remember, the ally they had never hoped for. If she asked them they would let her leave, they might not assist in her flight but they wouldn’t report it. Not until it was too late to matter. These sweet too grown children with their dull eyes still brighter than any Shimura’s,  _they would free her if only she asked._

“No…Never, Shin.”


	9. Inoichi 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inoichi has seen some shit.

Inoichi would bet a sizable amount of ryo that the little girl strapped to Danzo’s chest had overheard more s-rated secrets than most of Konoha’s council. It was frustrating at times to think that a toddler, whether she understood the things going on around her or not, was better informed than he was but such was just another unfortunate consequence of whatever bad karma the village had racked up to get Danzo put in charge.

He tended to ignore the rumors that something was _Off_ about the Honorable Granddaughter, mostly because he didn’t really need to listen to the rumors when he could just as easily witness it himself when he brought in reports.

Inocich had survived the third war, had clawed his way to the top of intelligence at an almost ludicrously young age and proven he had the sheer talent and cunning to deserve the concessions his clan status had allowed him. He’d parsed through the minds of Konoha’s most wicked enemies, dragged secrets from unwilling shinobi and been cursed to his next five generations for his work. He wasn’t a man easily undone or disturbed but there was something Wrong with Shimura Moriko.

Eyes like hers did not belong on the faces of children.

“This is all the information we were able to collect from the unit, based on the girl’s apparent alliance with the missing-nin Hatake we have her slated for the next printing of Konoha’s bingo book,” Shikabane-hime was a ridiculous name, a bad joke if he’d ever heard one and with her apparent usage of his best friend’s clan jutsu it was something to be carefully compartmentalized until he and his teammates could address the subject privately so they could present a unified front to any suspicions and accusations, “A composite sketch is being made and will be distributed to all ANBU hunter teams in addition to any further news of Hatake.”

Personally, Inoichi thought the continued efforts to kill Hatake were a waste of village resources but in Danzo’s regime, it was no longer his place to criticize. Danzo slowly took the proffered papers, carefully reading over each detail presumably for some manner of slight to criticize. Inoichi’s eyes were drawn to the ever-present sling and the child tucked carefully within it. She was small for her age, or at least smaller than Ino had been and disturbingly calmer. If Ino had been in her place, forced to stay quiet and still through the long office hours the Hokage’s seat demanded it would have culminated in a meltdown to end all meltdowns.

The Honorable Granddaughter was  _blank_. At times it seemed like her eyes glazed over but not with the gentle look of a half-sleeping child but that of a battered shinobi after a fight. Inoichi knew that Danzo was ruthless, knew that he was of the generation where pre-village views of child soldiers still lingered but…but this was his  _Granddaughter_.

Danzo shifted, and Inoichi was pulled from his morbidity as the hokage stamped the document with his seal, jostling the Honorable Granddaughter enough for her to squirm. Her eyes flickered around the room and she caught sight of him, blinking owlishly as if she’d only just noticed his presence. Ino would have clambered out of the harness and across the desk at the prospect of a new interesting stranger to play with, The Honorable Granddaughter only stared at him with wide dark eyes. He’d met Uchiha with less intense stares.

At least he had the good sense not to shudder until he was properly dismissed and out of the room. Children shouldn’t have eyes like that, but who knew what those wide eyes had seen.


	10. Yasu 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasu adopts a man and eight dogs.

Kakashi had commandeered his bed again–The small boon this time being that he hadn’t bled all over Yasu’s sheets but honestly dealing with head trauma almost made him wish it had been a simple stab wound. It was amazing at times, the wounds that had never truly occurred to him as being terribly serious back in Konoha could be utterly devastating without hospital grade technology. If Kakashi had gotten to him any later…well, Yasu did his best not to think too hard on what-ifs about Kakashi, he had enough on his plate as is in that regard.

He sighed as he leaned against said bed because he couldn’t just leave Kakashi, the young man needed at least three more hours of observation before he was completely out of the woods. He’d been camped out on the floor for the past hour, once he was sure Kakashi was as good as he’d ever be Yasu could finally get some rest. Whether he’d simply yank a quilt from his closet or actually get up and make his way to the guest bedroom to sleep depended entirely on how exhausting dealing with a semi-conscious missing-nin ended up being–Yasu wasn’t making any bets on the guest bed.

“Boss, hey Boss, eyes open.”

The yip and shuffle of sheets reminded Yasu of his  _other_  guests. Barely able to wedge the lot up with Kakashi lay his dogs in a protective cocoon. Bull sat forlornly on the ground, too big to fit with the rest of his pack but rested his head on the bed next to Kakashi’s hand. Pakkun had taken charge, as always, and was placing a gentle but firm paw on Kakashi’s cheek to rouse him from his momentary lapse into dreamland.

Yasu took that as his cue to push himself up and fumble around in his pockets for his penlight before leaning over the pile of dogs so he could get a better look at the man beneath them. “Okay, check-up time, I’ll take it from here, Pakkun. Thank you.” The little pug grumbled but carefully fit himself into the crook of Kakashi’s neck who grumbled unintelligible something himself.

“Alright, Hatake, I’m going to need you to open your eye–No, right eye first, that sharingan reacts no matter what ridiculous condition the rest of your head is in.”  _That_  had been a startling discovery a few weeks back, wonder of the sharingan and whatnot, he supposed. As he examined Kakashi for the third time that evening he quietly narrated all of his movement and tasks. It had always put ninja more at ease, to know exactly what, why, and how everything was done to them. He’d picked it up from his grandmother, of all people, a pediatric surgeon and a civilian one at that. Ninja were a bit skittish like nervous children, he supposed, and Kakashi was practically a child in Yasu’s eyes despite the fact he was an adult in the eyes of ninja and civilian law.

“Alright, you’re definitely looking better, so that’s good progress. Do you have any questions? Need water? I can’t have you eating yet, but as soon as I think you’ll be able to hold down food I’ll fix up something simple for you.” Yasu rambled a bit, hands delicately carding through Kakashi’s hair–It was to double check his bandage, Yasu told himself as he seamlessly transitioned the motion into gently replacing the cold compress on his forehead.

Kakashi groused for a moment, squinting between Pakkun and Yasu, as if unsure who his question was directed towards. “C’n I sleep?”

Yasu huffed a small laugh as every dog capable of speech simultaneously gave a firm but quiet “No.” Even Bull released a light whuff and gave Kakashi’s hand a warning nip. Not enough to break skin, or likely even hurt but certainly enough to stave off drowsiness.

“Well, they make a compelling argument, Kakashi so I’m afraid you’ll have to stay awake for a little bit longer, alright?” Yasu patted the little bit of dogless space on Kakashi that wasn’t injured, an elbow looped around Shiba’s neck. With a light yawn, he slid back down the side of the bed, back to his vigil. He could feel himself nodding off and frowned, that wouldn’t do at all. Then, as if summoned by the medic’s thoughts Yasu felt a heavy weight against his side jarring him out of his daze. Yasu had to muffle another laugh, if it was too loud he could overstimulate Kakashi’s already sensitive ears when Bull layed both paws and his head across Yasu’s lap.

“Heh, thanks, big guy. I appreciate the company.”


	11. Yasu 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasu meets The Ladies.

When Kakashi dropped in on him with no visible injuries, Yasu tilted his head slightly, “Chakra exhaustion?” He’d asked, already moving to wash his hands and shuffle the younger man into the infirmary section of the house. The young man had a stubborn streak a mile wide but Yasu always did his best to at least keep him in the infirmary for treatment, even if Kakashi always stole his bed for the recovery portion of his visits.

“Nope, I’ve brought payment.”

Such a statement wasn’t terribly unusual–Yasu hadn’t even been the one to bring up the idea of payment for his efforts in ensuring Kakashi lived to see another day. Apparently, Kakashi had snooped around town and learned that Yasu accepted trades just as often as ryo and thus the odd delivery of medicinal herbs from halfway across the continent or a new set of scalpels. Things Yasu had once taken for granted back in Konoha–among  _other_  things he’d taken for granted really.

“Thank you, Kakashi, I appreciate it,” Yasu couldn’t help the small smile, in his odd way Kakashi was rather considerate, one just had to look around all his child prodigy typical social skill and jounin eccentricities. Underneath it all, he was just an overgrown teenager fumbling through what was likely his first friendship since he’d defected and Yasu didn’t hold that against him. Kakashi was doing his best.

Still…the crinkle in said missing nin’s eye had Yasu’s narrowing. Kakashi’s arm waved out with a lazy flourish, gesturing Yasu towards his back door, “Come on then, the dogs aren’t the best babysitters.” Which was a statement that had Yasu practically rushing towards the younger man–Because he hoped, he  _really_  hoped, that Kakashi wouldn’t drop a child on his doorstep. That seemed just a little too much, even for him.

“Kakashi–You  _didn’t_ –Damnit, please tell me you don’t have a kid in my backyard–I-I never take care of it, it’s so overgrown there are  _snakes_  back there!” He wasn’t as fast as Kakashi, few people were but Yasu might have been out of practice but damnit, he  _was_  the first special jounin in his family. His shunshin was sloppy from disuse but he still landed all the way across his house and next to Kakashi. His frantic state only seemed to further amuse the missing-nin as he gave a lazy shrug.

He knew that look, it always spelled trouble, not danger, but certainly a headache in Yasu’s future. “Don’t worry, I think they’ve already eaten most of them.” The damned Hatake was  _enjoying_  this while Yasu was almost certain this was what losing his mind was like. He liked Kakashi, he really honestly did, but the man needed a goddamn hobby besides giving him heart attacks.

“Your dogs ate them?!” Yasu yelped as he quickly unlocked and yanked his door open, the wellbeing of the dogs now accompanying his concern for Kakashi’s common sense. The missing-nin beside him seemed nearly  _offended_  at the query,

“What? Of course not, they’d never eat snakes. They have better taste than that, Yasu.”

Running a hand through his brown hair Yasu momentarily considered that Kakashi would certainly be the death of him–before quickly pushing the thought away considering the last person who’d triggered that response. Sharp brown eyes scanned said overgrown mess of backyard until his gaze fell upon the dogs all huddled in a circle snuffling and yipping quietly.

Yasu swore he heard something  _squawk_  from within that little circle.

“Kakashi,” The medic spoke slowly and disapprovingly with the same tone he’d have taken with particularly belligerent medic apprentice once upon a time, “What  _exactly_  have you brought into my yard?”

As if on cue the dogs parted and a trio of chickens stood, all bickering and clucking over the half-eaten snake carcass and–And honestly, they looked cute. They looked  _delightful_ , bright little orbs of sun and fluff and ever so slowly Yasu brought a fist up over his mouth to block Kakashi from seeing the absolutely ridiculous grin that had broken out without his control.

“Kakashi,” he whispered as he knelt down and reached out one hand to carefully pat the most exploratory of the three chickens. Earning a curious little cluck as she, in turn, circled him and pecked lightly at his hands, looking for food most likely, “What the  _fuck_.” 


	12. Chiyojo 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chiyojo wrecks someone's life and finds an ally.

Chiyojo had known from the moment her Uncle put on the hat that any potential in a career outside the academy was completely and utterly tanked. The blatantly covered up and ignored attempt on her life just a few weeks after his ascension pretty much clinched that deal given her ankles would never be fit for the wear and tear of field work anymore. She was lucky her vocal folds had only been damaged and not fully destroyed, she could still give her kids one hell of a lecture when she wanted to, provided she had a few sips of water intersped–but she just chalked up to proper hydration, none of her current students knew how close to death their sensei had come to within the supposed safety of their village walls. **  
**

To be honest, she’d rather keep it that way, let them be children while they were still in the academy. They had their genin careers to learn about the harsh realities of the leaf village they would one day inherit.

Still, she wasn’t exactly a career climber, but she knew that given her particular situation looking towards opportunities within the academy system was really her only option nowadays. So she’d worked hard and in spite of her young age, she’d climbed that ladder as high as she could for the time being, which was what brought her to her current task, processing the applications of injured field ninja for transfer to the academy. It was a mostly thankless job, but it got her brownie points for doing it without complaint and she was saving up every single favor she could.

Her and Suzume were stable enough for now, but they had plans to move out of their little one bedroom apartment into a larger one, or even a rental home if they could find one. Maybe near the Inuzuka district, they were so much more relaxed about couples like them and Suzume’s genin teammate was an Inuzuka who she was certain would be able to talk to someone for them. Any kind of extra hours she could work right now were a bonus, every ryo carefully counted and added to their moving fund.

Applications for injured chuunin and jounin weren’t terribly common, most shinobi held out hope that they’d recover from their injuries so they’d wait until they had no other options. It wasn’t really a reasoning that Chiyojo personally approved of for becoming a teacher, given that she’d chosen the task all the way back in her genin days but retired field ninja  _could_  be good teachers if the right ones were hired. That’s where the annoying part of the whole process came in, and the reason most people pushed the task onto those desperate for extra hours, background checks and interviews.

The man, Mizuki, had no possibility of returning to the field according to the medical details in his transfer request–And Chiyojo couldn’t help but wince in sympathy when she’d read that, she’d spent a good while in a wheelchair herself, and his recovery process looked  _grim_. Even if he recovered the use of his legs, he’d probably be permanently bound to crutches. Chiyojo’d had her age to thank for her recovery process, the ‘accident’ had apparently stunted her growth a bit, but in a few more years she wouldn’t even need her cane to walk with on good days.

So here she was, waiting in an unused classroom because someone had made an inquiry about the application of said injured chuunin. It wasn’t uncommon, usually concerned friends or teammates wanting to come to give character testimonials about the applicant to help support their transfer case. Chiyojo hadn’t personally met Maito Gai before, though she knew of him from the village grapevine, and as far as she could tell, that was what this meeting would be about. The two had been on the same mission when Mizuki’s injury occurred, according to their paperwork and everything the teacher had heard about Gai led her to the conclusion that he’d be supportive of a teammates career change.

In her time as an academy teacher, Chiyojo’s experience with jounin were usually confined to determining genin teams and handing over academy files and assessments to said genin sensei. She knew well enough the eccentricities of some jounin, it was something of a joke among career chuunin, that you never quite did enough to get promoted in order to preserve your own sanity. Most everyone knew of Maito Gai’s bombastic reputation even if they hadn’t met him–So to see the man walk in with calm even steps and a frown threw Chiyojo a bit off her game.

“Shimura-san, I am Honored that you would see me on such short notice in regards to my teammates’ application for a teaching position at the academy.” His voice boomed through the empty room. He certainly had the lungs of an orator, Chiyojo noted as she gestured for him to take a seat on the other side of her desk.

“It’s just Chiyojo, thank you. It’s nice to see a Jounin showing support for his injured subordinate. Mizuki’s application is still processing but as far as I’ve heard his background check has cleared,” She smiled warmly, it really  _was_  nice, and so was Gai from all the second-hand information she’d heard about him. It seemed like some of it was exaggerated, not the fashion sense but as an identical twin Chiyojo could appreciate the need to stand out in a sea of konoha blues.

It wasn’t an awkward or nervous movement per se as Gai settled in across from her. It was a stilted motion as if in any other situation it would have been accompanied by some sort of grander gesture but for now, he held himself back. It did nothing but raise Chiyojo’s hackles in concern, but she did not interrupt to demand an explanation, instead of letting the jounin speak at his own pace. “Ah, I appreciate your compliment but I am afraid that isn’t quite the reason that I’m here. It is regarding Mizuki’s application, but rather the fact that I have several concerns over his possible employment.”

Chiyojo’s smile dropped instantly and one hand busied itself pulling out Mizuki’s records and paperwork while the other snatched a red grading pen from behind her ear, “Please tell me any concerns you have, and be thorough; while I trust the chuunin in charge of these background checks there’s always room for human error and if we’ve made one then it needs to be fixed before it can affect our children.”

Finally, the smile she had been expecting the entire encounter burst onto his face–and she had to admit it was rather endearing in a way that reminded her of one of her students, “Absolutely! I Knew that The Nurturing Garden of Our Village Youth would take my concerns seriously. Thank You, Chiyojo-san!”

Well, her assessment of his oddities being over exaggerated was falling apart a bit, but he appeared to have his heart in the right place. Furthermore, given the fact that a jounin who certainly had better things to do than come to the academy on a weekday to report a concern he could have done through written means only furthered her positive opinion of him. “I take any and all concerns about those we allow to teach our children in Konoha. Please, don’t hold  _anything_  back, Gai-san.”

To say she had been expecting any of the information that Gai had to provide was an understatement. She knew he’d received his injuries from the ally of a missing-nin, and given her Uncle’s fixation and Gai’s presence in the mission she had been able to guess exactly which one. Young shinobi could be hardened enough but the idea that something he had said was provoking enough that the girl had crippled him while leaving his teammates virtually unharmed didn’t sit well with the jounin–And as she tore through seemingly minor complaints from former teammates in Mizuki’s files which had been previously brushed off in lieu of his otherwise spotless record, Chiyojo’s eyes narrowed.

Like  _hell_  she was going to let this man into  _Her_  academy, she’d break his legs a second time if he even looked too hard at the building. With the flourish that only a part-time desk ninja could accomplish Chiyojo notated and underlined every overlooked flaw and red flag within Mizuki’s application. The very end of his resume her eye caught one particular recommendation which she was almost  _certain_ was the reason for so many incidents lacking further investigation.

_Dearest Darlingest Uncle Danzo._

The flash of killing intent for the briefest of moments was unintentional but the way the jounin before her immediately stiffened he’d noticed it. “Chiyojo-san?! I Fervently Apologize for Upsetting you with this information. Is it worse than I had anticipated?” And bless him, he actually did seem worried. Gods, some of the jounin running around these days were jokes, promoted toadies of her uncle’s but this man had heart and he’d  _spoken up_  in a village where that was an increasingly discouraged endeavor. Chiyojo would have to keep an eye out for Maito Gai, he was a  _good_  man.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for, Gai-san. You have no  _idea_  how much I appreciate you coming to me, you’ve saved us a lot of grief by stopping this trainwreck of a human being from shoving his garbage pile of interpersonal complaints onto our staff.”

Like hell, she was going to make it easy for  _Uncle_  to shove some damned plant to keep an eye on her, or Hashirama forbid scout for his creepy little child soldier program that chewed up and spat out her broken mess of a sister. She couldn’t do anything immediately, she’d have to pull a few strings first, put her paperwork skills to use and dig up any records of Mizuki and see whether they were all scrubbed clean. If she could just get the names of his accusers then she could track them down and order some  _proper_  character interviews.

If her smile was a little sharper as she finally set her pen back down on her desk and steepled her fingers to lean her chin against them and get a better look at Gai, it wasn’t directed at him. The Shimura were a dour clan, and Chiyojo had always been the antithesis to the whole lot, but at that moment her smile could have matched her Uncle’s in the pure predatory glee of a hunter assured that its prey was walking directly into its trap and they only had to wait.

“On an unrelated note, Gai-san, have you ever considered signing up to become a jounin instructor?”


	13. Fugaku 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fugaku is a very tired man.

To say the police station was tense would have been the understatement of the century but one would never know it looking at the small girl practically tumbling over herself, climbing onto chairs and nearly onto an officer’s  _in use desk_ , to get a better view of the rising sun out the nearest window. Or perhaps, Fugaku amended, it wasn’t the sun gently breaking over the horizon she was looking at. As far as the police chief understood, this was the farthest from Hokage Tower the granddaughter of Shimura Danzo had ever strayed.

It was such a laughably good opportunity dropped into his lap. The granddaughter of the man who would see his clan crash and burn, but one that would mean certain death for all of them if he took it now. Perhaps if they had been faster, if the police had managed to catch the kidnappers before the alarm had been sent up they could have fabricated a trail and Shimura Moriko could have been hidden away somewhere, for better leverage when the time for the coup came–But such was not the luck of the Uchiha.

The alarm had gone up and everyone in the village knew the child was missing and if she were found with an Uchiha who had not alerted the village of her safe retrieval? Well, Fugaku wasn’t an idiot, he wouldn’t be the one to kick the chair from beneath the Uchiha once Danzo finally tightened that noose around their collective necks.

Fugaku wasn’t prepared for the little girl to abruptly halt her babble at the pop of a shunshin arriving in the room. Why Shisui could never use any of the  _doors_  in the station was utterly beyond the exhausted police chief, but before he could chastise his younger clanmate he was interrupted.

“ _Shishi._ ”

There was a nearly imperious tone of offense as the honorable granddaughter took in Shisui’s sudden appearance before her–which was ridiculous because she wasn’t even four but Fugaku couldn’t say he hadn’t seen a similar expression on his own younger son’s face before–Usually when someone interfered with his playtime with Itachi. Fugaku had to hold back a snort, he was never prepared for the words of children.

“Not Ita–Why?”

Ah, so it seemed that the Itachi’s unforeseen attachment to the Shimura child was mutual. He filed that away to think upon later. Instead of allowing himself to feel a vague sense of bemusement at the sudden change of character in the child. Where moments ago she had been bouncing excitedly in her chair, releasing a stream of lisping babble about buildings and trees, now she sat stone still with dark eyes narrowed at the teen before her.

“Sorry, Honorable Munchkin, Itachi’s busy catching the bad guys who tried to snatch you but he sent me to make sure you were alright.” Fugaku’s brow twitched at the utterly irreverent way in which Shisui referred to the honorable granddaughter–worried that compounded with her already negative reaction it would herald some tantrum. However, while Moriko’s frown deepened she didn’t acknowledge the nickname otherwise. Instead, she swiveled her body in her chair, plopping down to sit properly and stare metaphorical holes into the young Uchiha’s face.

“Ita’s alright?”

Again Fugaku’s attention was caught by the fixation of his eldest son, and Shisui’s nonchalance in quickly assuring the child of his safety, “You think some weak enemy nin could hurt him? He’s your very strongest guard, you just sit tight here until he comes and gets you, okay?”

The girl frowned a severe look that could have come directly off the face of the godaime. It was uncanny and downright uncomfortable to see an expression dreaded by half the village so thoughtlessly placed on the face of a child. It wasn’t entirely fair, she was an innocent in all this but so were his youngest clanmates and none of them were spared of the godaime’s machinations.

“…Promise?”

“I  _pinky_  promise.”

Fugaku nearly rolled his eyes as Shisui lowered himself to the honorable granddaughter’s level and held out his smallest finger. The girl herself hesitated before reaching forward and hooking own finger around his and giving his hand a small shake. The child seemed placated enough, finally settling back down into the seat which had been provided for her. After a moment’s hesitation, she patted the seat beside her, gesturing for Shisui to sit beside her.

“We can wait t’gether. Shishi loves Ita too.”

Fugaku was never prepared for the words of children.


	14. Chiyome 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chiyome reassures her boy.

“Bear-senpai.”

Bear watched the asset tense as she entered her office, she tilted her head ever so slightly in greeting. Technically no assets were allowed within her office unless they were on official business. The reality of the situation played out differently and her vents and their scent nullifying seals were an oft-used route to avoid detection. If no one could trace the asset’s entrance into her office then no one wanted to make an accusation against Danzo’s second.

Or rather, perhaps they did want to make an accusation and cause dissent within the Godaime’s regime but Chiyome would  _crush_  them. Her assets were more important than petty politics.

“Asset Sai, report please.”

Her tone was clipped, clinical but her hand reached out and gently snaked its way around his body to rest on the shoulder furthest from her. It wasn’t a hug, it couldn’t be, but it was the closest physical comfort she could allow herself–Just as much for his safety as for hers. If they began looking to her for comfort in public places it could alert Danzo to a greater level of attachment than was allowed.

“Asset Shin still has not sent word back of his progress, he has officially passed his second deadline of report and will face consequences if he returns.”

Bear kept her face calm and impassive even as her heart clenched at the younger boy’s clinical tone. She gave his shoulder a soft squeeze before releasing him, she walked past him as if the contact had never been made and sat down at her desk to review her paperwork for the day. While Danzo preferred doing most things under the table in terms of overall village involvement, the man kept meticulous records and it was in part her duty to review and store them appropriately. What she cared for was copied and squirreled away in a few small caches around the village, birth records, custody records, medical records, death records.

She did her best to remember it all, but she was no Uchiha. Records in triplicate hidden throughout the village would ensure that her assets could never be  _fully_  erased, not while she breathed.

With a clipped tone, sharper than intended but with no real heat, Bear split her attention between Sai and her work, “ _When_  he returns I will assess the necessary actions taken towards him.” The sooner the better, if he would only send back word then she could disappear the problem altogether. Falsify an injured hawk, a malfunctioned scroll, or if worse came to worst implicate one of the Uchiha in order to save Shin from decommissioning. He had such a short amount of time left, but he _deserved_ that time.

Besides, for once, Bear was almost certain that the Godaime was correct in his frenetic suspicions of the Uchiha. She heard more than him, if only through the eyes and ears of her assets intermingled within anbu. Some things trickled back to the Godaime, those that if overheard without her careful filtering would be received badly but others were tucked away safely in the confines of her mind. Sealed tight as a corpse scroll as it was, it would take a veritable army of Yamanaka to pilfer any information, even the Godaime could not take from her what she was not willing to give.

“Asset Sai, please alert me immediately if word from Asset Shin is received, when he returns I want him sent directly to me for debrief,” Her eyes flickered up briefly before moving back to her work, but one hand reached down to pop open one of the secret compartments of her desk. Without looking up she pulled out a small, minimalistic black notebook.

Asset Sai had been given a combat notebook, of course, but such a tool could not be wasted on anything but spars and missions. It was a rationed tool, each page meaning the potential difference between life and death. This notebook was no such thing, with simple paper and a small pack of kohls neatly tied to the cover with thin twine. It was set carefully on the edge of her desk and summarily ignored. She could not say one way or the other if one of her assets handled contraband if she never saw them take it. She had simply misplaced the book, and it could not be found.

“Thank you, Asset Sai. You are dismissed.”


	15. Shikaku 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shikaku is trying to keep this village together.

“Nara-san, thank you for coming but your services and council won’t be needed today.”

There was nothing outwardly unpleasant about Shimura Chiyome, in fact, she was  _too_  genial if anything. She spoke about black-ops assassination missions like he’d heard people talk about a nice seasonal change in the weather or what they’d done over the weekend–Though for her Shikaku would give it a fifty-fifty chance that it  _had_  been her weekend. 

He’d heard about her ANBU debut years ago and then subsequent funneling straight under Danzo’s command. Barely ever under his own command, not even a week as a special jounin and she’d been shuffled into black-ops, not even Hatake Kakashi had set that particular precedent, having lingered as a jounin for a decent amount of time before he’d been too shell-shocked for anything but ANBU.

It wasn’t much of a surprise in retrospect that he snapped and went missing-nin, his whole life was a build up to an early grave or disaster.

That was part of the reason he kept an eye on this particular Shimura, her own ludicrously high rank of ANBU commander at such a young age may have been due to Danzo’s particular brand of paranoid nepotism but she was still easily skilled enough to be a mid-ranked captain in her own right. Her loyalty to Danzo was yet another tick against her, every wall had ears in the Hokage’s Tower and Chiyome was undoubtedly one of them.

“I’m afraid your appointment with the hokage has been rescheduled for next week, I left the date and time on your desk, please do not be late.”

Her smile was pasted on, like most of Danzo’s odd little lackeys, Shikaku’s own face was a passably natural mask of professionalism. Less genial, more bored but politely attentive, he could get away with it as a Nara and it generally kept anyone in the Godaime’s circle from thinking him too ambitious.

He  _wasn’t_  ambitious, but he was loyal to the leaf and the will of fire and he did his damnedest to quietly steer Konoha away from the shipwreck path Danzo so flagrantly set her on. It meant working with Danzo more than he liked, reasoning with the man was like pulling teeth from a buck. A task better done with copious amounts of sedatives so no one was gored, and some days Shikaku wasn’t sure if he’d prefer them to be shoved down Danzo’s throat or his own.

“Troublesome, but fine. Is there anything else the Hokage needs from me today,” Getting home early would be nice, it wasn’t often that Danzo canceled on his so he’d have to get an ear in on those particulars but he’d count his small blessings, “Else I’ll go ahead and head out. Paperwork for mission assignments should be filtering out soon.”

Chiyome tilted her head slightly, Shikaku could tell she was assessing him, like the look of a cat unsure if another animal was prey or predator. Paranoia was a Shimura trait, as far as Shikaku could gather but at least this one’s was less likely to get him fired or murdered. She stared for a beat too long to be casual, righting the cant of her chin and smiling with false warmth.

“I don’t believe so Nara-san, have a good day–But please remember to stop by my office tomorrow, I’ll have some paperwork sent your way about the most recent ANBU casualties and which candidates Godaime-sama has shown an interest in recruiting to replenish their ranks.”

Shikaku bit back a grimace, ‘recruitment’ into ANBU under Danzo’s regime was sugar-coated coercion more often than not and a third of the time potential recruits never even survived their first missions. That didn’t even account for the bloodbath that was ANBU itself these days, under the care of an indoctrinated girl in past her depth.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, Shimura-san.”


End file.
